


it's in the colors

by Toucanna



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 01, Season 2 Speculation, eve is a gay disaster, soft!villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-25 22:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toucanna/pseuds/Toucanna
Summary: Eve is shit at makeup, but, luckily, Villanelle is an expert.





	it's in the colors

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this fun little one shot because of a headcanon pow wow with isabella (@atrelesbabe) and wanted to do an art/writing collab. let me know what you think in the comments below! hope i got their voices down, but you can never be too sure. villanelle is a tricky one.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @villanever 💞

Eve has always been shit at makeup.

Her father was her sole guardian for a majority of her life, and she never had any strong female role models, choosing to forge her own path in that department. The girls at school would talk about trips to the shopping mall while Eve studied serial killers in the library with her crazy hair and too big sweaters.

She never felt above them. Femininity does not determine the strength of a woman. In fact, she was envious of them. She would spend hours in front of the mirror attempting to draw some semblance of a line on her eye, yet she just ended up looking like a raccoon with a perm.

So, Eve decided then that makeup was not for her. Since then, she has lived by that adage. She can appreciate it from afar but prefers her own bare skin instead of contour and highlights.

Hence, when Carolyn tells her she has to dress to the utmost extravagance for the ball they are crashing in pursuit of the Peels, Eve is lost. She can pick out a fine outfit. The other stuff, the makeup stuff, will prove to be a problem.

They stand on opposite sides of the blue-walled Amsterdam hotel. Carolyn stares out the window, seemingly entranced by the cloudy sky. The grey light casts a shadow on her face. It’s film noir-esque, and Eve is reminded of how absurd her life is. She nervously plays with her suit sleeve.

“Do I have to wear makeup? Isn’t bare face a female empowerment thing right now?”

Carolyn looks at her, unamused. “You’re not supposed to ‘make a statement.’ You’re supposed to blend in. Blending in requires looking like everyone else. I am not the biggest proponent of the cosmetics industry, but, in this case, you must.”

“I can’t,” Eve blurts out.

“Can’t what, Eve? Look like everyone else? You’re doing a fine job of it right now,” she deadpans as she examines Eve’s wrinkled pantsuit ensemble.

“No. I-” Eve sighs. “I’m terrible at makeup, Carolyn. I can’t look like an elite ball attendee because I can barely apply lipstick.”

“Oh. Hm.”

Silence.

Eve continues to fiddle with her sleeve as she watches Carolyn purse her lips in thought.

They both go to speak.

“I could do surveillance or-”

“I’m sure we can-”

Carolyn jerks her head. “What was that?”

Eve waves her hands in the air. “Nothing. Sorry. You go.”

Carolyn clears her throat, folding her arms behind her back. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange something, so you don’t have to do it yourself. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Eve breathes.

Silence again.

She fidgets in an attempt to break it up, tapping her foot and blowing air out of her cheeks.

Carolyn turns toward her, and Eve stands up straighter.

“Why are you still here?”

“Oh I thought that…” Eve doesn’t know what she thought. “I’ll go.”

The older woman gives a firm nod, and Eve scrambles to leave. As she pulls open the door Carolyn calls out, “Someone will be sent to your room later.”

 _Thank god,_ Eve thinks. _Thank fucking god._

Nevermind.

Just kidding! God doesn’t exist. God is a lie.

Or he’s dead and rolling over in his grave, because Eve answers a knock later that evening, expecting a makeup artist or stylist, and she is face to face with none other than…

 _Villanelle_.

Villanelle with her honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose bun and that dumb fucking look in her brilliant hazel eyes that she only gets when she’s looking at Eve apparently.  

“Don’t run.”

Eve feels her blood run icy cold, but then…

Villanelle bursts out laughing. “Ha! Your face! You should have seen it. Oh, wow. Priceless.”

Eve massages her temples after her near heart attack. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready?”

Villanelle barrels past her, pushing her way into the room. Eve, dumbstruck, steps aside. She notices a rolling suitcase lingering behind the assassin.

Eve points. “What’s that?”

Villanelle ignores her. “Pssh. It won’t take me that long. True beauty is effortless.” She flashes Eve a dazzling smile when she stops in front of the bed. “I am here because the grumpy boss lady--”

“Carolyn.”

“--The grumpy boss lady mentioned you needed assistance. Luckily, I am a beauty expert, so I volunteered.”

Of course. Of course, Carolyn would fuck her over like this. Eve thought she had gotten over her disobeying orders in Russia but clearly underestimated Carolyn’s level of pettiness.

“Should we do it on the bed or in the bathroom?” Villanelle pipes up.

Eve goes bright red. “What.”

She gives the suitcase a little shake. “Your makeup, silly.”

Eve lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “Th-the bathroom. So the bed doesn’t get, um, messy.”

Villanelle nods like this makes perfect sense. “Okay, we should get started. This may take awhile.”

Eve scoffs. “Excuse me?”

She starts rolling her suitcase toward the open bathroom door. “It’s a joke, Eve. I think…” She pauses, her voice going soft. “I think you’re beautiful.” Eve hates she instantly melts.

Villanelle snaps back into Villanelle mode. “But boss lady gave me orders, and I’m trying to be a good spy so sit on the edge of the tub, please.”

Thus, Eve finds herself sitting on the marble bath, assassin kneeling in front of her. She winces as Villanelle is inches from her face and struggles to keep her eyes closed as she expertly applies eye shadow.

“Stop moving.” She speaks at a lower octave now, whimsicality nowhere to be found. Eve hates how hot it is. She can _feel_ Villanelle’s breath tickling her cheek. She can _smell_ her perfume, an intoxicating aroma that makes it terribly hard to stop from leaning forward.

Did she mention Villanelle is on her knees? It’s worth mentioning again.

“I’m uncomfortable,” Eve grunts.

“Why?”

She feels Villanelle dab at her eyelid with a brush.

“Because you’re so…”

 _Close._ Eve wants to whisper. _You’re so close._

The coolness of liquid eyeliner touches her skin. Villanelle is now even closer, and Eve is having a sensory overload. The woman is practically giving her a lap dance while putting on her makeup, and it’s overwhelming.

“So…?” Villanelle murmurs.

Eve is finding it hard to complete this sentence, especially because Villanelle delicately places her fingers on Eve’s chin and tilts her face to the side. Is it fucking hot in this bathroom? The hotel is old and definitely doesn’t have air conditioning. It’s so stuffy. Maybe she should-

Villanelle pulls back, and the heat immediately dissipates, steam off a pot of boiling water. Eve is grateful Villanelle doesn’t force her to finish her sentence. But, she figures she can open her eyes now, right? She needs to keep an eye on her in case she tries anything murder-y.

Just a quick peek to make sure nothing fishy is happening.

Well, that’s a fucking mistake.

Villanelle is back in her face again. Holding a lipstick swab haphazardly in the air, her tongue pokes out of the side of her mouth as she stares at Eve with intense concentration. She drags her eyes across every facet of her visage. Eve feels like she’s a piece of still life being studied by a painter.

In a way, she supposes she is.

Lipstick. Lips. Villanelle’s lips. She moves her tongue along them, biting slightly. Eve can’t close eyes again. They’re stuck. They’re taped open. This is fucking Clockwork Orange. The last time they were this close Eve is pretty positive they would have had sex, sans unexpected stabbing.

Villanelle looks like she did then, baby hairs poking out around her ears, soft yet focused expression. The two of them, alone, absorbing each other’s company, realizing they made it. They found each other. Finally.

Now, they’ve found each other again. Eve wonders if it will always be like this, if their lives will be a cycle of lost and found. They’re destined to be together but never for too long. Eve wonders how long it will last before they are sent adrift again.

“I need you to open your mouth.” Villanelle interrupts.

Eve blinks.

“Yeah. Okay.”

She does as she asks. Villanelle swipes at her lips with the brush, delicate yet purposeful.

“I like it when you do that,” she says.

“Oo wha?” Eve attempts to get out without closing her mouth.

“Stop,” Villanelle scolds and tips Eve’s chin towards her. She continues the task at hand. “You go somewhere. You think so much that you can’t talk, and you get this look on your face.” She demonstrates a dazed and aloof expression, gazing up at the ceiling with her mouth hanging open. She can’t hold it for too long and begins chuckling at herself. “It’s… It’s adorable. Very cute.”

Eve knows her cheeks are turning red for the billionth time and is helpless to stop them. She also knows Villanelle definitely notices and probably takes sick pleasure in watching her squirm.

Villanelle does one last swipe then clicks her tongue. “Finished. Would you like to see?”

Eve nods and starts to get up. Villanelle sticks her hand out.

“Wait! No, stay there. I have a mirror.”

“There’s a mirror literally right there.” She motions towards the one above the sink.

Villanelle rolls her eyes like she said something stupid. “It’s not the right type of mirror.”

“There are types of mirrors?”

Villanelle gets up from where she was kneeling and rummages through her open makeup suitcase, procuring a large handheld square mirror.  

“Here.” She passes it to Eve.

Eve brings it to her face. She nearly drops it, shocked by her new appearance. Villanelle gave her a sharp cat eye with shimmering gray eyeshadow behind it. Her lips are blood red, almost dripping. Her cheekbones are sharp. Her skin is glowing.

“I did amazing, didn’t I?” The narcissism is back. “I told you I was a beauty expert.”

Eve wants all of those girls from high school to see her now. She can wear makeup. She can fucking rock makeup.

“Don’t touch.”

Villanelle grabs Eve’s hand as it is in motion to rub her face. The grip is gentler than Eve thought it would be. She ruminates upon what it would feel like if that grip was pinning her up against a wall.

No.

Bad.

No.

“I haven’t done the setting spray. You’ll ruin it.” Villanelle clarifies. “I think you just need…” She lets go of Eve and rummages through the suitcase again. When she returns, she’s holding a towel with various colors of lip stain on it.

“I use this to mute the color a little bit. So it’s not too bold or too wet. You just have to-” She puts the rag to her mouth and presses it lightly then hands it to Eve.

Eve takes it, reluctantly. Villanelle’s mouth was just on this towel. Now, Eve’s mouth is going to be on the towel. This is the latest installment of _How Close Can We Get To Kissing Without Actually Kissing,_ isn’t it?

As slow as she can manage, she brings it to her lips. Villanelle meets her gaze and holds it there. Her eyes are burning, half-lidded like they were when she pressed Eve up against the fridge.

_Are you wearing it?_

It takes everything in her to suppress a shiver.

“Are you going to give me back the towel?” Villanelle asks and raises her eyebrows.

Eve realizes she has buried her face in it for an uncomfortable period of time.

“Yep. Yep. Sorry. I’m sorry. Here you go.” She gives the rag back, and their hands brush. It’s electricity. Pure static.

Villanelle frowns. “You smudged it.”

“Oh, oops.” Eve goes to touch her lips.

Villanelle grabs her wrist again, harder this time. “What did I say about touching?” She tsks. “It’s like you do the opposite of everything. ‘Don’t touch.’ You touch. ‘Don’t attack me.’ You attack me. ‘Don’t pull the knife out.’ You pull the knife out.” She scoffs. “Ridiculous. And grumpy lady says I’m the one who can’t follow orders.”

“I’m sorr-”

“Hold still.” Villanelle doesn’t let go of her arm and uses her other hand to wipe Eve’s mouth. Eve freezes,  not moving a muscle. She senses the rough texture of the old towel, but she’s stuck on Villanelle’s eyes. Cat-like in the way a housecat lounges in the sun before its afternoon nap. She doesn’t even notice when she pulls the towel away but remains just as close. Villanelle lets out a sharp breath through her nose, almost like she’s scolding herself for what she’s about to do.

Wait. What is she about to do?

 

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

What is she about to do

 

Oh, _fuck_. Villanelle’s eyes flutter closed. She’s leaning in.  

 

What is she about to…

What is she about to…

 

Eve’s body betrays her. She finds her eyelids growing heavy, closing as well. Her pulse is racing, and she’s positive Villanelle can feel it thrum beneath her fingertips.

_Fingers._

The distance between them decreases exponentially, and Eve is overcome with calmness, which surprises her. You would think she would be having a mental breakdown, that her brain would be short-circuiting, but it’s not. Instead, it’s the tide coming in and out on the sands of Cape Cod, it’s the cicadas on a hot summer evening in Connecticut, it’s the pitter patter of London rain on her window sill. It’s the puzzle pieces falling into the right place.

It’s home.

Her entire life she has been chasing the thrill. She thrives in danger, in the stomach turn before you plunge down on a rollercoaster. She’s never wanted peace. She detests it. Excitement is her element.

And yet, as she draws in closer to Villanelle’s orbit, she is satisfied. She craves the contentedness, the placidity. She wants to stop running and hiding and looking and finding.

It is the two of them in this bathroom. Ironically, the same place where this whole thing started. They are not agent and assassin. They could have met at a bar. Eve would be sitting on the stool, drinking her troubles away. She would feel a light tap on her shoulder and turn to see a woman with blonde hair and a magnetic pull. They would debate the entire night, topics ranging from psychopathy to bruschetta. Eve would notice how her eyes light up when she talks about film, how she’s incredibly opinionated about food and even more stuck up about fashion.  She would hear the bartender shouting “last call!” She would remember the low whisper in her ear asking, _pleading,_ Eve to leave with her. They would brush hands on the cab ride to the hotel, and Eve would swear it’s like lightning. She would pour two glasses of wine, and Eve , in the midst of a passionate speech, would spill it all over herself. Then, they would end up in the bathroom, with a rag, drinking in each other’s presence.

Two women. A thousand different universes. An inevitable attraction.

The ghost of Villanelle’s lips are upon hers, and she’s ready. She’s oh so ready.

Drum roll please….

**_KNOCK._ **

Eve practically falls into the tub, and Villanelle jumps five feet backwards.

They hear the monotone voice of Carolyn Martens through the door, “ _Eve, Villanelle, we have to be going to the ball soon. We can’t be late. Time is of the essence”_

Eve is breathing hard. Although, she’s not the only one.

“Coming!” Eve shouts back.

She turns to Villanelle. “You need to…. You need to, um, you need to get ready.”

Villanelle brushes her pants. “Yes, I know. You should go with Carolyn. She’s expecting you.”

Eve stares at her blankly.

“I’m a caterer. I’ll be serving you mini hotdogs. Don’t enjoy it too much.” A wicked grin. Eve hates her.

“I hate you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We almost just kissed so I’m going to go with no.”

Fuck, Eve was under the impression they were going to pretend that didn’t happen.

Villanelle must have watched Eve’s face completely betray every thought she just had because she says, “I won’t forget.”

Eve is red again. Her body temperature is stuck permanently feverish after this evening.

Another loud knock.

“Go.” Villanelle motions to the exit. She holds it open for her but only enough so they are forced to touch.

Dick.

Villanelle drifts forward. Eve is lured in.

“ _I’ll make it up to you later_.”

Eve gulps.

“Bye, Eve!”

And with that, the bathroom door is slammed in her face.

Eve wants to slump against it, but it opens again. As she whips around, she is smacked with a shower of liquid.

She spits. “What the fuck?!”

Villanelle is innocently holding a setting spray bottle.  

“I almost forgot. We don’t want your makeup rubbing off. Especially that lipstick.” A grin. A mischievous twinkle. The door slams in her face again.

This is going to be a long night.


End file.
